Hamilton's Kitchen Nightmare
by Clair The Guardian
Summary: Alexander Hamilton is a young chef from the Caribbean that is taking the world by storm. He came to America to work, not deal with all these people that can't cook to save their lives! Can this hot tempered protean cook help steer people in the right direction or will they not hear the message over his yelling?
1. Chapter 1

**So, yeah, this exists now. This might be only a few chapters, unless I get too into it. Which I probably will, to be honest.** **Also, a lot of Google trans Spanish. Enjoy and review!**

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Chapter 1: An Immigrant Coming Up From The Bottom

It was once said that food was a gateway to learning about a culture and, by extension, the chef themselves. To some, food is just food. Something you just enjoy with others. To others, it's a lifestyle. A form of expression and a way to share something special with your community. To one chef that this was more true than to most others. That chef was Alexander Hamilton.

Hamilton's story isn't the most pleasant one. Born from an impoverished Scottish chef father and a young Caribbean mother, the odds weren't stacked in his favor. His father left the small family he had made when Hamilton was only eight due to excessive debt. He did, however, leave something behind when he left; a beaten up, leather bound book. A small collection of his finest recipes he's gathered over the years. Whatever they did with it didn't matter to him. Not at all.

Hamilton's mother did use the book. She never had enough money to feed her two boys; Alexander being the youngest of the two with his elder brother James, so she made money where she could. For it's size, St. Nevis had a relatively large population and there was always something to celebrate. A wedding, a birthday, a random party, a graduation; Hamilton's mother catered them all. They didn't bring in much, but it was enough to keep her family feed and warm most nights.

Then the sickness came. A strange and sudden outbreak of yellow fever racked the island. Hamilton and his mother both succumbed to it, but only Hamilton survived. He kept his mother's book with him as he and his brother were separated for the rest of their lives. James had left a few of his own ideas in the book from time to time too. Hamilton never let the book far out of his sight for long.

He was moved in with a cousin for a while. Hamilton cooked for him, it was something he enjoyed and his cousin encouraged him to keep at it. So he did. He liked living with his cousin. At least until he found him hanging by a rope in his study.

So, the youngest Hamilton was alone in the foster care system again. He was placed into a loving home with a family of five; a mother, father, two girls and a baby boy. He cooked most lunches, breakfasts and some dinners to thank them and they appreciated it. He also took on a job at a small restaurant as a busboy. Well, at least at first. When the owner happened to try some of the teens food, he was moved into a paid position under the head chef, an older man named Alejandro. Hamilton liked the life he found himself in. He saw a good future for himself.

Then the hurricane came. St. Nevis saw devastation like it never had before. Hundreds were killed and thousands more were missing or injured. Hamilton's foster family, the owner of the restaurant and several others Hamilton worked with were among the casualties. St. Nevis had been almost completely decimated and the people were suffering. Hamilton, having grown into the most stubborn and determined nineteen year old that would ever grace the world, wasn't having any of the hand he'd been dealt, so he did the only thing he could think of doing. He cooked. It was a modest meal, a rice and chicken recipe his father picked up from India and his mother added a Caribbean flare to. It was easy and quick to make and could be spread thickly. He started with the youngest local kids, then their older siblings, then their parents, and so on until most people in the area were fed. Word got around quickly and more and more people showed up to see what all the fuss was about. Hamilton just kept cooking. He wasn't sure where it would take him, but he knew he needed to do something other than wallow over all that he lost.

It was a normal day when everything changed for Hamilton. He was serving food to a group of elderly people when a man approached him. He recognized him as the head chef he worked under. Alejandro pulled him aside and gave him a stuffed envelope. He opened it and couldn't contain his shock. The envelope was filled to the brim with money. He looked up at the chef to demand and answer, but stopped when he saw the look in his deep brown eyes. He looked tired and beat down, everyone did after the hurricane, but his eyes had hope in them, but not for himself.

'... Toma esto, mi muchacho. Tómelo y salga de este lugar."

 _Take this, my boy. Take it and leave this place._

Hamilton gasped and tried to speak up. He wanted to tell him that he couldn't accept this. He could handle it on his own. But his former mentor raised a hand to silence him.

"Alexandere, eres un joven excepcional y un cocinero increíble. Usted puede tener un futuro más allá de esta ciudad. Más allá de esta isla. Toma esto y vete, muchacho. Hazte un nombre por ti mismo."

 _Alexander, you are an exceptional young man and an amazing cook. You can have a future beyond this town. Beyond this island. Take this and go, my boy. Make a name for yourself out there._

Hamilton looked down at the envelope and mentally counted it all. It was enough to buy a passport and one way ticket to the US. The United States of America. It was a dream of his to go there someday, but after everything that's happened, he thought it was hopeless to dream about the impossible. He looked back up at Alejandro, whom had slight tears in his eyes.

The elder chef placed a hand on the younger's shoulder and gave him a small smile, "Vamos, hijo mío. Nunca olvides tus raíces y haznos sentir orgullosos. Tal vez venga y visite una vez que haya hecho su marca. ¿Bien?"

 _Go on, my boy. Never forget your roots and make us all proud. Maybe come and visit once you've made your mark. Alright?_

Hamilton looked down at the envelope again and smiled. He tucked the envelope away in his pocket and practically beamed at the elder chef, "... Voy a. Gracias. Muchas gracias señor. No te defraudaré. Lo juro."

 _I will. Thank you. Thank you so much, sir. I won't let you down. I swear it._

The former head chef chuckled and ruffled Hamilton's brown locks, "Harás bien ahí fuera, muchacho. Todos sabemos que puedes. Promesa de comportarse, ¿de acuerdo?"

 _You'll do good out there, my boy. We all know you can. Promise to behave yourself, alright?_

Hamilton couldn't help but chuckle, "Está bien, lo prometo."

 _Okay okay, I promise._

Alejandro chuckled, took a step back and motioned towards the group waiting to be fed, "Te dejaré volver a trabajar entonces. Buena suerte Alexandere."

 _I'll let you get back to work then. Good luck Alexander._

The young chef smile widened and started to head back to work, "Gracias señor. Para todo."

 _Thank you sir. For everything._

Alejandro nodded as Hamilton got back to serving the people.

It was about a month later when Hamilton was ready to leave. He had set all of his affairs in order, bought his passport and purchased a one way boat ticket. Alejandro, a few of the other living members of the restaurant and some people that had known his family for years came to see him off. There were some tears and some very nice words said before the boat whistled, signaling that it was time to board. After giving Alejandro a well meaning goodbye, Hamilton boarded the boat. He kept his eyes on the island he'd known all his life as it fell behind the horizon. He turned towards America and smiled. He was on his way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two! I'm honestly surprised how many people like this, but it's cool that people do. Enjoy and review!**

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Chapter 2: What's Ya Name, Man?

Culinary school was almost too easy for Hamilton. His prior experience in a kitchen and his family's cook book made everything they taught him seem like a refresher's course. He did appreciate the guidance, it was just that he didn't need that much work on his skills. Cooking was in his bones and recipes flowed through his veins, it was just how he was.

The young chef had gone to multiple culinary schools since coming to America two years ago. He'd never been kicked out of one, the curriculum just couldn't keep up with the young chef. He could finish an entire semesters worth of work in about a month. Before he finished his first year of culinary school, he'd been moved to twelve different schools for varying lengths of time. The longest he'd ever stayed at a school was about three months before they ran out of material to teach him and had to move again.

Hamilton noticed that he had developed an interesting reputation for himself as he started his second year. He was the talk of most of the schools he came to and was often referred to as "The Caribbean Spitfire Chef." He didn't mind the attention, he just wished the rumors about his culinary exploits were a little more believable. He'd never even seen a Komodo Dragon, let alone cook one.

Hamilton was currently attending a school in New York City, New York. It was a good school in Harlem that he'd been with for about two months. However the usual problem was coming up again. He estimated that he only had about another month or so before he had to leave again. The young cook had already decided to stay in New York though; there were tons of schools in the area and he just loved this state. He loved all the states, but New York had a special place in his heart.

At the moment, our favorite chef was walking home after stopping by the Union Square Greenmarket. It was his favorite place to get ingredients for class or just groceries for himself. He'd found a killer deal on a large basket of vegetables and was plotting that night's dinner and how much he would be able to give to his neighbors. Some of the people he lived by needed a proper meal much more than he did.

He was so busy thinking over his next culinary master piece, he didn't see the towering person in front of him before he ran into him. Being the smaller of the two by far and how fast he was going, Hamilton fell on his backside. He dropped several of the other things he'd picked up while he was out; just some homemade saltwater taffy he came by, perfect for the kids he lived near; but didn't spill a single vegetable, he had too much skill for that.

He looked back up at the person he ran into and was meet with the tallest person he'd ever seen. He was at the very least six feet tall with a wide build. He was the type of person you'd expect to see on a football field or bench lifting monster truck tires. Hamilton couldn't help but wonder what he did as he started picking up the taffies. The man seemed to finally notice he hit someone and squatted down to help Hamilton. The shorter of the two stood and accepted the taffies the taller one offered.

"So sorry about that. I didn't see you."

"It's fine. I didn't see you either."

The man picked up Hamilton's vegetable basket, quickly looking over it's contents before giving it back to him, "Feeding an army in your spare time?"

He chuckled briefly as he took the basket, "No, this is for class and an extra is going to my neighbors."

"Class, huh? You a culinary student or something?"

Hamilton couldn't help the proud smile that fought its way out onto his face, "Yep. Top of my class too. I'm going to take the culinary world by storm. Just you watch!"

The man blinked in surprise at the young chef's outburst; Hamilton had a habit of announcing his plot of food based domination to anyone who asked and anyone who didn't.

The man chuckled after a minute of silence, "You're certainly something. The name's Hercules Mulligan. What's yours?"

"Alexander Hamilton. Pleasure to meet you."

Mulligan blinked at his name, "Hamilton?"

"Yes sir. Have you heard of me?"

"... Maybe... Here."

Mulligan took a small baby blue business card out of his pocket and gave it to him. Against baby blue, the words "The Valley Forge Outpost" stood out in jet black. Hamilton thought the name sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. He turned it over and saw a phone number and address. He glanced up at Mulligan with a curious eyebrow. The man just smirked.

"My business card. Drop by some time. I think you'll be interested."

He looked down at the card for a second before putting it in his back pocket, "You know what? Sure. Why not? I'll stop by."

"Great! I'll see you around then."

"I expect so. Till next time, Mr. Mulligan."

The elder man laughed, "Mr. Mulligan? Really? I'm, like, only a couple years older than you, man! Just call me Herc. Everyone does."

"Oh. Alright. See you later then, Herc."

Herc chuckled and headed in the direction he was first going in before they ran into each other, "Be seeing you Alexander!"

For someone so big, he disappeared into a crowd very easily. Hamilton took the business card back out and looked over it. He smiled slightly and put it away again. He'd figure out where it was later, right now he needed to get home. For some reason, he really wanted to know about the mysterious Hercules Mulligan and this oddly familiar sounding place he worked out. He supposed that he'd just have to wait to find out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter three is here! Lots of people seem to like this, so I suppose I'll keep making chapters. Enjoy and review!**

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Chapter 3: The Place to Be

Hercules Mulligan was a young man with an impressive work ethic. Always a joker, but never a slacker. If he was ever late, it would be because he was almost dead. He always came to work on time, rain or shine. Hercules was a long time chef at one of New York's best restaurants, The Valley Forge Outpost. The Outpost, as the staff called it, was one of the top rated restaurants in the entire country and he was proud of that. He rarely ever missed a minute at work, he was so proud to be there.

Today, however, he came in slightly later than he usually would and his co-workers noticed immediately. He had a very good reason as to why he was late, however. He'd just meet a very interesting person whose name rang a very particular bell that he couldn't quite name. No one called him out on his tardiness until about an hour before they opened. The staff always have a staff meeting with before opening. The owner of the restaurant, former Senator George Washington, sat at the head of the table with the cooking staff on the right side of the table and the wait staff on the left side. The last thing Washington did before dismissing everyone was call him out on his out of character tardiness.

Hercules, being as honest as he was dependable, told the truth, "I ran into someone on the way here. We talked for a bit and parted ways. Left him our business card."

The chef could feel the confusion waft of his co-workers at the mention of the business card. Hercules _never_ gave out business cards. He was more likely to quit than give someone a business card. Washington raised a questioning eyebrow at him and the young man decided to continue.

"Sir, have you ever heard of an Alexander Hamilton?"

The table was swarmed with shocked gasps and confused whispers. After a minute, Washington raised a hand and everyone went quiet. He turned back to Hercules, "Are you sure, Hercules ?"

"Positive, sir."

Washington leaned back in his chair, "... I heard that The Caribbean Spitfire Chef was in New York, but so close... You told him to stop by?"

"I did. I wouldn't expect to see him today, though."

"I see... We're opening soon. Places, everyone."

The staff nodded and went to work. Hercules could feel the rest of the staff looking at him out of the corners of their eyes when they thought that he wasn't paying attention. He strode into the kitchen and got to work. He was probably only the third best of the five chefs and the fifth best out of everyone on the payroll, but he did his job well. He cooked great food, went home, slept, came to work; was, rinse, repeat.

If he was being honest, he kinda forgot about the supposed Caribbean Spitfire Chef until about a week later.

It was near closing time and Hercules was on a short break while making a group of new customers feel welcome. Making them laugh and suggesting what to get, the usual. He was about to head into the back room for bit, when a familiar looking brunette walked through the door. The chef appraised the younger one as he waited to be seated. He was dressed simply, a white button up shirt with a dark green hooded jacket and black jeans with very worn out shoes. He looked like he hadn't slept well the last week and, if Hercules was foolish enough to believe the rumors, it was because the young spitfire had spent the last few days tracking down, killing, and preparing some exotic animal for his next outrageously delicious meal. He was escorted to a table near the back next a large window. He thanked the waiter and looked over the menu.

Hercules walked up to the culinary student, "Well, if this isn't a surprise."

Alexander Hamilton jumped and looked up at him, recognizing him almost immediately, "Oh! Mr. Mull-! Uh. I-i mean Hercules. How are you?"

The professional chef chuckled at the slip up and sat across from the student, "I'm fine, Alexander. I didn't expect to see you today."

"I honestly didn't expect to be here. I was walking by and saw the sign. I didn't have the time to look up this place this week, midterms coming up and all. When I saw the sign, I figured I'd stop by and look around, you know?"

"I get it, bud, don't worry. Trust me, this place has some of the best food in the city. You won't be disappointed."

Alexander smirked, "Are you just saying that because you work here?"

"Hmmmm. Maybe. I'll tell yo-"

"Hercules, stop flirting with the customers. Your break is up."

The accused flirter turned to the waiter that had seemingly come out of nowhere. The waiter in question was none other than his friend Marquis de Lafayette. The Frenchman had some weird ability to sense when Hercules' break was over, so he stood to leave.

"Well, back to work with me. Laf, take care of Alexander, he's new around here. And Alexander, enjoy your meal."

He left the famous culinary student and a shocked looking head waiter as he quickly dashed into the kitchen. He washed his hands and started on an order. He really was the third best chef there. The first and second spots belonged to his friend, John Laurens, and his definitely not friend, Thomas Jefferson, and he was a big enough man to admit it; speaking in a figurative sense, of course.

About five minutes into working, Lafayette rushed up to him, smacked him upside the head, and whisper-yelled at him, "Why didn't you say it was him before?!"

John looked over from the soup he was stirring, "Who?"

Hercules sighed, "Alexander Hamilton is here and Laf is upset I didn't tell him until I left. Jay! Take over this, I'll cut."

Everyone fumbled for a second at the mention of the infamous culinary student before kicking it into gear again. He moved between people and started cutting various vegetables for various orders. Anyone that came back to watch the chefs work would be impressed by how well they worked together. Lafayette posted Alexander's order with a quick "Don't mess this up" before dashing out into the fray again. John and Thomas worked together, for the most part, to make it. He glanced at their work and noticed Thomas cooking lamb. As much as Thomas wasn't his favorite person in the room, his ability to cook lamb almost perfectly was ridiculous. Washington walked in and looked everyone over.

"Hercules."

"Yes sir?"

"Why is most of the staff on edge since you got off break?"

"Alexander Hamilton is here, sir. He just walked in as my break ended."

"... Is that so?"

"Yes, sir."

"... Hercules, go make him comfortable. Everyone else, stay on task. This could be an important night for us."

"Yes, sir!"

Hercules set his stuff down and headed back out. He had a pretty good idea as to what his employer had in mind and he was interested in how it would go. He walked up to Alexander, who was looking over the desert menu with a hungry eye. So he was a sweet lover; they were going to get along well.

He retook his seat across from the student and smiled, "Got a sweet tooth, Alexander?"

The young man jumped and looked up from the menu, "Oh, um, yeah. I'm trying to save money and I already ordered something kinda expensive, so..."

"Hey, I'll tell you what. I'm the pastry guy. You tell me what you'd like and I'll give you a price. It doesn't even have to be on the menu. Go on. Try me."

Alexander eyed him for a minute or two with intensely critical brown eyes. Hercules figured that he was trying to get a feeling out of him.

"... Key lime pie."

A favorite on the menu and a personal recipe of his. "Five bucks a slice.

"... Deal."

Hercules stood and rushed into the kitchen. Their key lime pie actually was his family's; Washington openly encouraged people to say if they had an option for the menu. When the key lime pie went up, people loved it and it became one of their staples. He'd made twelve fresh that morning and there was only a few slices left. He grabbed the largest slice and headed back to Alexander. The young student had gotten his meal; lamb chops and a Cesar salad; and appeared to be thoroughly enjoying it. He saw him approach and practically drooled at the sight of the pie. Hercules set the pie in front of the student and smiled, "Enjoying your meal, Alexander?"

Alexander simply nodded and kept eating like his life depended on it. Actually, the more he looked at the young man, the more he noticed things that didn't look well out of context. His unusually small frame, his thin arms, the bags under his eyes, the fact he was acting like he hadn't eaten in days. None of it looked good without more story to it. He was able to keep the growing worry from his face as Alexander finished his meal and moved onto the pie. At the first bite, he practically melted.

"Oh Dios mío..."

Hercules couldn't help but chuckle, "I take it you like it?"

"Dude, I could marry this pie. Merde, it's good."

The pie was gone in a matter of seconds and Alexander looked completely pleased.

"I think I found where I'm getting my key lime pie for the rest of my life."

He chuckled and stood, "Good to know you like it so much. Need anything else or would you like your check?"

"I'll take my check please."

He nodded and went to the kitchen. He grabbed Lafayette as he exited and told him to ring up Alexander's dinner. The Frenchman nodded and headed off. He walked the rest of the way into the kitchen and started helping with the clean up. He stopped cleaning for a split second and saw Alexander look back as he was leaving. Hercules smiled and waved to the smaller man and he shyly smiled and gave him a small wave. The culinary student stepped out the door into the night and he couldn't help but wish him well.


End file.
